Hold On to Me
by micbb
Summary: John Noble and Rose Tyler are best friends. That's the way it is. Until it isn't. Doors are slammed and there's screaming and yelling and objects hurled across the room. There are insults and accusations and tears and there's a door slamming shut a final time.


**Snapshots into the lives of John Noble and Rose Tyler as they grow up**

"What's takin' you so long?" John Noble, at seven years old, is not a patient boy. As it is, the little girl with the blonde pigtails and big eyes is taking far too long to go down the slide. She isn't even _moving_! She's just sitting there, at the top! He wants her to _go_ so that he can have his turn!

"It's so high," the little girl whispers, looking down at the impatient boy with the wild brown hair.

John sighs irritably. "Well, why did you go on it if you were _scared_?" He demands, kicking up sand with his shoe.

"I'm not _scared_!" The little girl retorts indignantly. "I've just never done the big slide before!"

John looks up at her from the ground. She's holding the side of the slide tightly and her eyes are wide. He tries to remember his first time going down the big slide, and he recalls his grandpa Wilf holding his hand from the ground the whole time. He couldn't reach Rose's hand from the ground. He's too small, and after all, it' the _big slide_. So he climbs up the ladder and plops himself down behind the girl, a leg on either side.

"Hold on to me," He tells her, and her clutch goes from the metal sides of the slide to his calves. Her grip is too tight, but he doesn't say anything, remembering that it's her first time on the big slide. He pushes them off, laughing delightedly as they make their way to the ground and fall onto the sand in a tangled heap.

They stand up and clumsily brush themselves off. When John looks back at her, there's no trace of fear in the little girl's eyes. Only excitement. "That was great!" She exclaims happily. "I'm Rose." She offers him a grin that's missing a few teeth.

"I'm John." He smiles back, knowing he's missing teeth, too. "Want to go again?"

"Yep!"

* * *

"It's too hard!" Rose wails, looking up from her textbook to look at John, who, until that point, has been studiously reading his own textbook.

They're sitting on the ground in John's bedroom, books and papers strewn about the room in a completely organized manner. The only way the two can tell the difference between their papers was the writing – Rose's large, loopy font looks nothing like John's small and strangely precise hand.

Now he looks up and meets his best friend's irritated gaze. She' trying to do her year four arithmetic, but maths has never been Rose's strong suit. He smiles at her and dutifully shuffles over, peering at the problems listed in the textbook. John likes maths well enough, and can do far more complicated sums in his head, especially considering that he's already learned the material Rose is struggling with. In his final year of primary, year six, John is feeling both ready to move on to secondary level work, but dreading leaving Rose behind. They've been best friends since their first ride on the big slide together, and he'd held her hand as they'd walked to school together. Rose no longer held his hand – she was a big kid, she'd told him proudly – but they still meet up in the courtyard of the council estate every morning and walk to school together.

"It's not that hard, Rose," he tells her with a grin.

She glares at him with all the might of a nine-year-old. "I'm not as smart as you, John," she replies, nudging him with her shoulder.

He nudges right back. "Don't say that! You're brilliant!" he encourages, knowing that whatever tone Rose was using, she tends towards self-deprecation.

He doesn't like that. Rose _is_ brilliant, after all.

She turns her scowl to the textbook. "Not at maths," she says, glaring at the pages as though they had personally insulted her.

John grins. "Come on, then. Let's do it together." She smiles gratefully at him, and he helps her with her maths – taking painstaking care not to actually _give_ her the answers but to help her along the way – until his gramps calls them to dinner.

The two exchange wide grins before racing down the stairs to the kitchen.

* * *

He calls her name when he finally sees her exit the school, and she looks up in surprise. The frown she'd been wearing melts into a wide smile when she sees him. She runs over to him awkwardly, her backpack throwing off her gate as it shuffles from side to side.

"What are you doin' here?" Rose asks, pleasantly surprised. It had been her first day of year five and his first day of year seven, and it was the first time since they became friends that they were at separate schools. John had begun taking the city bus to get to his, and Rose had kicked up stones on her way to school, disheartened as she made the trek alone.

"Classes finish earlier in secondary," John tells her proudly, his pride only lasting until Rose elbows him in the gut and brings him back down to earth. "There's a bus stop a five-minute walk over, so I figured we could walk home together."

Rose grins. "That's brilliant!" She tells him enthusiastically. She wants to reach for his hand, like she'd done as a child in second year, but they were both big kids now, and John wouldn't want some fifth year holding his hand. He _is_ in secondary, after all.

John smiles widely in response. "Yep! Ready to go?"

Rose turned and waves to Shareen and Keisha, who are watching them with wide eyes. They wave back, and Rose turns to John, smiling. "Ready!" She tells him. He nods and they began the short walk back to the estate.

* * *

They're sitting on the roof of Bucknall House, on a ripped blanket Rose has brought up from the flat she shares with her mum, covered with a blanket John has brought up from the flat he shares with his mum and gramps.

John is pointing out the constellations that had been shown to him by his granddad Wilf, and while Rose follows the shapes his fingers draw in the sky, she simply doesn't see the images he sees.

She doesn't tell him.

John, with all the wisdom of his fourteen years, is enthusiastically telling him stories of Greek gods and goddesses, and Rose, who finds John's voice strangely soothing, lets him talk.

"You should be a teacher," Rose says quietly when he takes a break to catch his breath. His grandpa Wilf has always told him that he could talk for all of England, and while Rose absolutely agreed with the older man, she doesn't mind one bit. She'd let John talk for hours if it meant she could stay with him.

John blinks in surprise at her interruption, turning his head to look at her. She's lying next to him on the old blanket, her fingers laced together and resting on her stomach. Her hair is splayed out from her head like a golden halo. When he doesn't start talking again, she turns to look at him, her honey-golden eyes wide and earnest.

John feels butterflies in his stomach when she turns her warm gaze on him. He shouldn't feel that way, he tells himself strictly. She's twelve years old. A kid. One look from her shouldn't send a tingle down his spine.

He swallows thickly and turns his gaze back to the stars. "Maybe one day."

* * *

He's sixteen and she's fourteen, and she's very, very late.

He checks his watch for what feels like the millionth time, even though he knows it's only the sixth. He'd been waiting outside the school for twenty minutes, expecting her to be out any second. She was never this late. In fact, she usually can't wait to get away from the school. He sees their usual bus drive by and scowls.

His mother is going to go crazy.

But he isn't about to leave Rose on her own, so he dutifully sits on the steps of the school, waiting for his best friend to show up so they can finally go home.

She emerges from the school five minutes later, an angry frown on her face and her hands in her pockets. He stands quickly. "Where were you?" He demands sharply, tired and irritated.

"Miss Oswald gave me a stern talking to," Rose replies bitterly, kicking a rock with her foot and watching as it clacked its way down the street.

John scowls as he followed, a step behind. She hadn't thanked him for waiting, even though she usually does – _profusely_ – if she's even five minutes late. "What about?" He asks instead, knowing his irritation is evident in his voice and not particularly caring.

Rose at least has the decency to look slightly ashamed, though she wouldn't meet his eyes. "She caught me and Shareen and Keisha smokin' fags behind the gym." She says quietly.

John stops short, and she stops, looking back at him. " _Smoking_?" John repeats, returning to the walk. She shrugs, and he sighs angrily. "Where did you even get fags?" He demands.

Rose shrugs. "Some bloke Keisha was talkin' to gave them to her." John makes an exasperated noise, and Rose shoots him a glare. "Mind your own business, John," Rose snaps, and John looks at her in surprise, feeling anger build up in his stomach. She's never talked to him like that before. He'd heard her snap at Jackie numerous times, but he'd always thought he was safe from her sharp tongue. Apparently not.

"Please don't tell my mum."

He presses his lips together angrily and says nothing.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming up?"

Rose jumps at the sound of his voice. She's sitting on her usually torn up blanket, a spare wrapped around her shoulders, looking up at the stars in the sky. He's been trying to show her the constellations for years, but no matter how hard Rose looks, she doesn't see them. She's made a point of crossing her eyes to see if it would help – but mostly to make him laugh – but it doesn't. She wishes she could see them.

John is standing at the door, making sure it's propped open before making his way over to her and sitting down on the blanket. He'd shot up like a weed in the past few years, now towering over her, and his legs are too long for the blanket. Her lips curl into a small smile when she sees.

"Just needed some time alone," she replies evasively, looking away from him. It's been two months since he'd waited almost half an hour for her at the school, and things had changed.

She's fourteen. She isn't a kid anymore. He's sixteen and he _definitely_ isn't a kid. Her stomach flip-flops pleasantly whenever he speaks to her, and it scares her half to death. He's her best friend in the world. Looking at him certainly shouldn't make her feel light and wonderful.

He looks down at her with a frown. "Do you come up here by yourself a lot?" he asks, slightly hurt at the idea. He'd always considered it _their_ space. For them to use together.

"Nah." That's a lie. Lately, Rose has been coming up to the roof on her own more and more, eager to get away from her mum, from her schoolwork, from their small, ugly flat, from the bright pink walls of her bedroom.

He's quiet for a few moments before speaking again. "What's going on, Rose?" He asks her, his voice barely more than a whisper. He doesn't want her to know how much it hurt that she won't talk to him, how he feels like she's pushing him aside.

"Nothin'," she answers, but it's too quick, and John is well practiced in Rose's lies.

"Rose," he presses, trying to sound kind without sounding too desperate.

She looks at him for what feels like the first time in months, her golden eyes meeting his brown. She says nothing for several minutes, simply looking at him, the expression on her face unreadable. Finally, she looks away, lifting her gaze back to the stars. "I feel like I can't breathe." She whispers. "I go down there, in the flat, and I go to school, and I _can't_ _breathe_. It's like…" she trails off, shaking her head. "God, I just want to get off the estate. Do somethin' with my life."

"You will," John says with certainty.

He could understand, to an extent, how she feels. Sometimes he feels it, too. The clawing feeling of being trapped on the estate for the rest of his life is sickening. But if anyone could really _do_ something with their life, it' Rose, regardless what she thought of herself.

She lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. We both know that if someone is goin' to get off the estate, it's you."

* * *

She's fifteen when he meets Sarah Jane. She's kind and warm and Rose can't like her.

She hates herself for it.

* * *

She stares blankly at her mobile, barely able to make out the shape in the dark room, willing it to light up, indicating a new message.

She'd saved up for months to buy the thing, and now it was amongst Rose's most prized possessions. Since she's gotten it, John has texted her every night, before going to bed, to wish her a good night. He hadn't missed one day, regardless of if they were angry at each, if she had shouted at him, if he'd shouted at her, or even if they hadn't spoken at all that day. She loved those goodnight texts – it reassured her that no matter what happened, girlfriend on his arm or no, he still loves her. She is still his best friend.

She falls asleep.

The phone doesn't light up.

* * *

He catches her eye and winks at her from the lineup, a graduation cap perched on his gravity-defying hair and heavy looking robes resting on his shoulders, not seeming to weight him down in the slightest. She's sitting next to Jackie, who's holding up an old looking video camera, catching his every move. He winks at her again and she smiles back, but not the smile he wants.

He's been busy lately, working his rear-end off in school to get into the best uni while also dating Sarah Jane, who he'd been convinced Rose would love but had obviously been wrong, because it seemed his best friend could barely stand to be around his girlfriend.

Recently, Rose had died her hair a bright, sunny blonde, so different from the dirty blonde he'd known most of his life. He can't deny that it's a nice change, and she looks beautiful, but he misses her natural colour. The makeup she wears around her eyes is too heavy for his tastes, but he says nothing, not wanting to endanger what feels like a friendship on the tipping point.

The smile she gives him doesn't quite meet her eyes, and his own smile falls a bit. He directs his gaze to Sarah Jane, who grins at him from her position further back in the line. That isn't the smile he wants either.

* * *

She hugs him tightly as his last suitcase is jammed into his mum's ancient car, and he returns the hug. When they step away, he sees that tears have gathered in her eyes, and he resists the urge to wipe them away with his thumb.

Their friendship has survived his relationship with Sarah Jane, for which he's grateful, but things hadn't gone back to the way they were.

It had struck him, one evening, that he hadn't sent her a goodnight text in almost two weeks. The thought had made his stomach churn guiltily. He'd started the tradition back up, religiously texting Rose every night at 10PM. That seemed to help – she acts lighter around him, happier, but he feels like she's grown up in a year and he's missed it.

Looking back, of course, he knows that he wasn't as available as he had been before, but both of them had understood that school could be difficult and he had a girlfriend. She had assured him numerous times that it was fine. But still, it seemed that in the year he'd dated Sarah Jane, Rose had become an entirely new person, and, if he was completely honest, he isn't sure how he feels about it.

The new Rose smokes fags with Keisha and Shareen, just far enough off school property so as to not get in trouble. The new Rose goes to parties and flirts with boys before coming home completely trashed, half supported by either Keisha, Shareen, or sometimes Mickey, any of whom are just as drunk as she. The new Rose stays out all night.

But she's his best friend, regardless, and he knows that she'll miss him just as much as he'll miss her.

"Don't do anythin' I wouldn't do," she tells him, a teasing note in her voice that fails to mask the sad undertones.

He tweaks her nose. "That's not saying much," he jokes back.

She smiles and shrugs, hugging him one last time before he gets in the car with his mum to be driven to uni. He isn't going far, just to the University of London, but he would be living in school dorms, away from his parents and from Rose.

He doesn't say goodbye.

It isn't goodbye, after all.

When he looks back, she's the last one standing on the sidewalk, watching the car drive away with teary eyes.

He waves.

She waves back.

* * *

She's sixteen and _Jimmy Stone_ is looking at her. Keisha whispers excitedly in her ear that he hadn't looked away from her all night.

She feels a tingle in her core.

* * *

She texts John about boring, every day things. Who Keisha is dating that week, the horrible weather, the goings on of the estate, the homework that she doesn't usually do.

He texts Rose about his lothario of a roommate, his mountains of homework that he always finished, the horrible weather, and the mobile numbers he convinces girls to give him at parties.

He almost always remembers to text her goodnight.

* * *

She yells as her mum screams, slamming doors and cupboards and just about anything that can be slammed.

She sleeps over at Keisha's or Shareen's. Sometimes Mickey's, but Jimmy doesn't like that, so mostly Keisha's or Shareen's.

She sleeps over at Jimmy's.

She accidentally leaves her favourite pair of knickers at Jimmy's.

* * *

He goes to parties with Jack and regrets it the next day, when the headache pounds behind his eyebrows as he tries to keep up with his readings. Whatever is in Jack's disgusting, bitter hangover cure, it doesn't work.

He takes a walk to clear his head after one particularly bad hangover, thankful, for the first time in his life, for London's grey skies. The sun hides behind the clouds and helps keep the headache at bay.

He passes a park with two sets of swings and two slides, and an involuntary smile graces his lips. He pulls his mobile from his pocket and snaps a quick picture of the slides, sending the pixel-y image to Rose.

The response comes forty-three minutes later.

 _its so high!_

* * *

She's fed up with school and homework and teachers and principals, and it isn't hard for Jimmy to convince her to quit. He's going to be a rock star, he tells her cockily. She wouldn't need her A-levels to come touring with him.

That makes sense, she decides, all too keen to not have to worry about homework and assignments and tests.

Jackie isn't so keen on the idea.

There's more screaming and shouting and yelling and hollering. There's door slamming and clothing hurled across the room. There's tears and accusations and shouts from the neighbours, telling them to quiet down, or else they'll call the coppers.

There's a bag packed and a door slammed a final time.

She doesn't say goodbye.

* * *

The bedsit is ugly and drab and _small_ , but Rose is content and happy because Jimmy is going to make it, and they'd finally get away from the dratted council estate.

* * *

John is woken up at nine in the morning by his phone ringing loudly. He sticks his head under the pillow and presses it against his ears, hoping to drown out the sound so that he can go back to sleep. It's Sunday, for God's sake!

Something hits the wall from the other side. The shrill sound has apparently woken Jack up, and obviously Jack is as impressed by the early-morning wake up call as John. The ringing stops and John breathes a sigh of relief, closing his eyes and throwing his arm over them for good measure.

It rings again.

John grumbles angrily, glaring at the phone before he answers, if only to get the annoying sound to stop. He sees his mother's name flash across the screen and he scowls at the mobile.

"Mum, I thought we said no calls before at least ten." He greets groggily, knowing his mother wouldn't appreciate the attitude in his tone.

"Do you know where Rose is?" His mum demands, apparently as interested in proper greetings as he is.

John blinks. "What? Mum, Rose lives nowhere here. How should I know? You live two buildings over, you check!"

"Jackie hasn't seen her in three days," his mum continues, and John feels his heart stop. Rose has stayed out all night before – several times, actually – but never more than one night. Not without reassuring Jackie that she was alright. "Apparently, they had an argument and Rose left with an overnight bag."

John rubs his eyes. "Well, don't ask me. What about Keisha or Shareen?"

"Jackie did. Apparently Rose has been dating some boy called Jimmy, but we don't have a phone number or an address or anything. She could be anywhere." He can hear the panic in his mother's voice, and can only imagine the state Jackie is in.

"I'm coming," John says decisively, throwing off his blankets and quickly finding some clothes to throw own. He all but runs to the bus station, texting and calling Rose's number, hoping for any sort of response. His heart leaps into his throat when his mobile rings.

"Rose?"

"Nope, sorry, mate."

John signs, annoyed. "What do you want, Mickey?"

There's a moment of silence on the other end before Mickey speaks up again. "Jackie says you're comin' back."

"Yeah, so?" John demands impolitely, finding a seat on the bus and sitting heavily.

Another pause. "Listen, mate. This Jimmy bloke, he's bad news."

John's blood runs cold. "What do you mean?"

Mickey tells John about Jimmy Stone.

John resists the urge to throw up.

It was going to be a long bus ride.

* * *

He makes at least seventeen more calls to Rose's mobile, and sends twenty-one text messages.

His phone rings, and he picks up on the first ring. "Mickey, I don't –"

"Stop callin' me." That isn't Mickey's voice.

His breath catches in his throat. He's been trying to contact Rose all day, and in all that time, he hadn't actually thought of something to say if she called him back. "Rose, please, just listen to me."

"No!" Rose snaps. "No, John. I'm done listenin' to what everyone thinks I'm doin' wrong with my life. Just _let me be_."

"No," John replies, equally as stubborn. "Tell me where you are. I'm coming to get you."

Rose scoffs. "Not bloody likely."

John bites back an angry retort, knowing that snapping at her won't do any good. "What did he promise you, Rose?" He asks her quietly.

There's silence on the other end for a few moments before she speaks up again. "He's goin' to make it, and we're goin' to leave and go travelin'." She tells him, a hint of pride in her voice.

"What about school, then?" John asks bitterly.

Another pause. "I'm not goin' to school anymore."

John's free hand bunches into a fist.

"I've got to go. Just stop callin' me, John." Rose says seriously.

"Jackie misses you," John tries, his head reeling as he runs out of options of things to say. "And Mickey."

Rose scoffs again. "Please, my mum wanted me out of there just as bad as I wanted out. And Mickey'll get over it. I'm goin' now. Bye, John."

She hangs up without giving him the chance to say anything else.

He resists the urge to throw his mobile against the wall of the bus.

* * *

It doesn't matter that she's only seventeen, so long as Jimmy's blokes are with her, Rose can get into any pub, and any club. She watches Jimmy play on the small stages and knows that women everywhere in the club are looking at her, talking about her, wishing they were her.

Wishing they had _him_.

Rose feels wonderful. She has a rock star boyfriend, she can do anything she wanted, and she doesn't have to worry about stupid things like homework.

She wonders how Mickey, Keisha, and Shareen are doing. Jimmy insists that she shouldn't hang out around with that crowd anymore. There are better, cooler people to hang out with, he tells her. There are cooler clubs and better parties if she stays with him and his friends.

So she does.

She wonders how John is doing.

* * *

John focuses on his studies, knowing that if he wants to get his masters, he needs better grades. Having grown up quite sharp, he'd very rarely needed to spend so much time poring over books and studying. Now he finds he has to push himself to study.

He tries not to think about Rose too much (although he adamantly refuses to take down the picture of the two of them on his nightstand) because she obviously wants nothing to do with him anymore. He wonders what had happened. He wonders if he'd said something to drive her away. He wonders if he could have brought her back, if only he'd thought of the right thing to say.

He focuses on his books.

* * *

She isn't thick.

She knows Jimmy is cheating on her. It's all too obvious when she comes back to the bedsit that she cleans that he'd brought other women back to their home. He isn't careful about it – condom wrappers are left on the floor, the tang of cheap perfume hangs in the air, and he's be too tired to do anything with her.

She knows she should mind.

But with two jobs – one in a chippy and one in a shop – Rose is too tired anyway. She pays their rent and she cooks the food and she cleans the flat and she works the jobs.

And he shags other women.

But she doesn't care so long as she can sleep a few hours each night.

Jimmy pointedly tells her she's putting on weight, so she stops eating in front of him, regardless of how loudly her stomach growls at her. She sneaks a bite when he's asleep.

* * *

He applies for teaching assistant positions around the university. He knows he would get at least one offer – his grades remained outstanding.

He meets Reinette.

She's blonde and flirtatious and while her smile isn't the one he's looking for, she reminds him of a friend he hasn't seen in more than a year.

He dates Reinette.

She's blonde and flirtatious but her smile is wrong, and she's nothing like Rose. She's jealous and petty. She monopolizes his time and clings to his arm. When she says his name it sounds more like _Jean_ than John and he doesn't like that one bit. The French accent that had been endearing at first becomes irritating.

He breaks up with Reinette.

There's screaming and shouting and _yelling_ and things are thrown across the room. There are accusations and insults hurled viciously by both teams and there's begging and apologies and tears. There's a door closed silently, then there is silence.

John runs his hands through his hair and wonders how Rose is doing. He wonders if her _boyfriend_ has finally gotten big enough to move off the estate. He wonders if she's changed her mind about school, if she's gotten in touch with her mum or with Mickey.

He wonders what the hell had happened to their lives.

* * *

She wakes up with a black eye and a sore wrist.

She covers it with makeup and goes to work.

* * *

She's almost eighteen and she realizes her mistake. She misses her mum and her friends and she misses John so desperately it hurts. She has no cell phone – she barely makes enough money to pay for food and rent, let alone a mobile.

She doesn't cry when she wakes up and Jimmy's things are gone. She looks around the room with dry eyes before jamming her things into her backpack and leaving, closing the door soundlessly behind her.

She goes to the bank to withdraw some money to buy lunch.

Her account has been drained.

She fights tears as she leaves the building and waits for the bus. She keeps her head down when she can't hold back the hot tears and wipes them quickly with her thumb.

She doesn't have enough money for the bus, and the walk home is dauntingly long.

She's about to step off, let other passengers get on, when a hand on her shoulder stops her and a man pays her fare.

He's _tall_ and imposing and has rather large ears and bright blue eyes, and he says nothing to her when she thanks him quietly and moves to sit in an empty seat on the bus.

He sits next to her and passes her a tissue. She looks at him suspiciously for a few moments before taking the thing and blowing her nose. She knows the remnants of her black eye are visible and that there are bruise marks along her arms, and she tugs self-consciously on her sleeves.

"Do you need help?" His voice is quiet and rough and has a northern accent.

She looks up to meet his earnest, concerned gaze, and smiles for what feels like the first time in a year. "No," she tells him surely. "Not anymore."

"Are you going back to him?" There is no question of who _he_ was. He might not have known Jimmy, but the marks on her face and arms are telltale signs of the struggle she's faced.

She meets his gaze squarely. "No." She tells him.

He nods and says nothing else for the duration of the bus ride. It's long – almost and hour and a half, but she doesn't care. She hesitantly leans over and placed her head on the man's shoulder. He says nothing, and she relaxes. A weight is lifted off her shoulders and she feels giddiness build in her core.

She can _breathe_.

She squeezes his hand in thanks before stepping off the bus in front of the council estate she'd grown up on. He nods to her.

She trudges up the familiar stairs and walks through the familiar halls and knocks hesitantly on the familiar door.

Her mum screams in delight when she sees Rose.

There are hugs and squeals and apologies tears. There's no yelling, there are no insults or accusations. There is hot tea and cuddles and old movies.

Rose sleeps in her mum's bed and feels safe.

* * *

He's twenty-one years old and he doesn't live in uni housing anymore, but he still lives with Jack, who is still _Jack_ in a way that only he can be.

He's a teaching assistant for a chemistry class that's filled with prospective doctors and nurses, and he ignores how much the women seem to flirt. After the terrible ending with Reinette, he's decided to put a halt on relationships and sort himself out.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

He still goes to parties with Jack and meets a variety of people. He's seen professors get trashed and students pass out from the alcohol, and it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

He wonders how Rose is doing.

He wonders if she still goes to those parties with Jimmy, and his gut churns uncomfortably at the thought of her like that.

He's writing a thesis paper for his master's degree, but more often than not, drafts end up in the trash and he's forced to start again.

* * *

She's almost twenty and she's _finally_ gotten her A-levels. After her disastrous and abusive relationship with Jimmy she's dedicated herself to her studies and reconnecting with her friends. Mostly Mickey – Keisha and Shareen still like to go to big, wild parties, but the thought of going to those makes her sick to her stomach.

She still lives with her mum in the small flat in Bucknall House on the Powell Estate, and she thinks it's never been more amazing. What had once felt constricting and prison-like now feels like freedom incarnate, and she revels in the sensation.

She doesn't apply to uni, but she works a steady job in a shop that pays her well enough, and that's alright. Her life finally feels normal, for which she's grateful. She goes to eat chips with Mickey, and to the cinema, and sometimes he brings her lunch at work.

He casually brings up the topic of dating, and she feels her throat constrict. Old fears creep back into her mind and she realizes that as much as she prefers the Powell Estate to the dingy bedsit she'd shared with Jimmy, she isn't completely happy yet.

She moves out two weeks after her twentieth birthday, and there are tears and protests from her mum, but there are no insults, no accusations, and no objects thrown across the flat. Her mum helps her pack and they borrow John's mum's car to drive to Rose's new flat, which she would be sharing with a uni student named Martha.

Rose steps into the flat, drops her bags, and she can _breathe_.

There's a note from Martha saying that she'd be in class until 6PM, but Rose could mostly certainly help herself to anything in the fridge or cupboards if she was hungry.

Together, Rose and her mum unpack the clothes she's brought, and while Rose is sad when her mother finally has to leave, she's also _free_. And the feeling is wonderful.

* * *

He wonders if the students in his class even realize that it would be unethical for him to date them, even if he _were_ looking to date. Which he isn't.

He talks to his mum often enough and he chokes on a sip of tea when she casually mentions, in passing, that Jackie had recently helped Rose move out of the flat.

John's stomach twists when he realizes that he hadn't even known that Rose had moved back in with her mum, and he wonders why he hasn't heard from her. His mother is shocked when she realizes how out of the loop he is, and encourages him to come home more often.

John blinks in surprise when he realizes he can't even remember the last time he'd gone back to the Powell Estate.

He is lying to himself, of course. He absolutely remembers the last time he'd gone back. But the memory is painful and he insists to himself that it hadn't happened.

He tells his mother over the phone the he would visit her next weekend, and her enthusiastic response makes guilt bubble in his stomach.

* * *

She loves living with Martha, who is kind and considerate and completely hilarious. They get on like houses.

The flat isn't much bigger than the one she'd shared with her mum, but the walls of her room aren't pink and she doesn't feel like she can't breathe anymore.

Martha has tried, on several occasions, to get Rose to audit some classes at the university. Rose, who is, at the moment, completely content with her shop job and meeting up with Mickey on weekends, never does.

She listens to Martha as her flatmate gushes about the _gorgeous_ teaching assistant in one of her chemistry classes, knowing infatuation when she saw it. She doesn't need to remind Martha that dating her TA probably isn't allowed – Martha complains about it nearly every day.

* * *

He's tired. Words are starting to blur on the page he's trying to read, and he curses whoever's messy writing it is.

"Are you still correcting those assignments?" Jack asks when he enters their shared flat to find John sitting at the kitchen table, papers strewn about in a completely unorganized fashion, glasses perched on his nose, and an empty mug that had contained a tea with two teabags leaving a ring on their old table.

John straightens his back, groaning when it cracks unpleasantly. "It's got to get done," He tells Jack bitterly, who shakes his head at his flatmate.

"You need to take a break," Jack insists, leaning against the countertop and crossing his arms over his chest as he regards his flustered friend. "Come to the pub tonight. Me and Ianto are going. You can have a few drinks and relax and not think about those goddam assignments for a few hours."

John considers the offer seriously. It's true that he hasn't moved in what feels like years, and the time it takes to correct a single assignment is increasingly exponentially as he eyes glazes over and he loses his train of thought.

* * *

"Come to the pub with me!" Martha insists as she dabs mascara onto her eyelashes, pausing to shoot Rose a pleading look.

Rose groans. "I dunno, Martha," she replies from her spot on the couch, flipping absent-mindedly through the channels on their old telly.

Martha marches over and snatches the remote from Rose's hand, ignoring her friend's protests. She uses it to point threateningly at Rose. "You haven't bought anything new in months! You've saved up enough money for a few beers. I'm not taking no for answer, Rose."

Rose sighs dramatically but stands up from the couch. Martha grins as she shoves Rose into her room to find something suitable to wear. She decides on a simple pair of dark-wash jeans and a top the colour of her namesake that clings nicely to her curves. Her makeup, which she'd worn to work earlier that day, is fine for a pub, if not a club, and Rose keeps a smart distance from her flatmate, who keeps trying to get her to wear eye shadow.

Martha leads the way to the pub, which is only a practical ten-minute walk from their flat, and the door _dings_ when they step in. Rose welcomes the sight of the calm looking place, nothing like the clubs she'd frequented in her youth, and follows Martha to the bar to order drinks. Martha spots some of her friends from school – another medical student named Rory, and his girlfriend, Amy, and the four of them sit together in a booth in the corner of the room.

Rose laughs along with everyone else when Amy tosses bits of pretzel at Rory, who is trying to catch them in his mouth but only succeeding about half the time.

* * *

"If you abandon me at this pub like you did last time, I'm changing the locks on the door of the flat," John grumbles as they trudge through the rain that had just started. His socks are wet and not helping his mood.

Jack laughs good-naturedly and holds up his right hand. "I solemnly swear that I will not abandon you at the bar to have sex with Ianto."

John runs his hand through his hair and cringes. " _That_ was an unnecessary mental image."

"It do anything for you?" Jack winks suggestively.

"For God's sake, Jack," John whines.

Jack laughs loudly and holds the door to the pub open for John, who shoots him an exasperated look as he enters the familiar pub. Jack goes to the bar to grab them some beers, and John finds a small booth and claims it. He shrugs off the coat that he's thankful he'd remembered to wear and settles into his seat, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check for any texts.

There is a message from Martha Jones, a student of his from the previous semester, inviting him out to drinks with her flatmate. John shakes his head. Martha has been very obvious in her interest of him, but the sentiment isn't returned. He'd wished he'd known how she felt before giving her his number, which had originally only been for class-related questions.

He's about to text a short reply, telling her that he wasn't available, when a chorus of laughter draws his attention to the group sitting four booths over.

It isn't unusual for loud laughter in the pub – where people mostly meet up with friends – but when he hears one particular laugh his head whirls around so quickly that his neck cracks loudly, and he winces.

And then he sees her.

She's sitting between Martha and a medical student he recognizes but has never taught, laughing as the redhead next to the medical student tosses bits of something at him, which he tries to catch in his mouth, mostly unsuccessfully.

Her hair is a darker blonde than he had seen it last, reminiscent of her natural colour, and the eyes that had once been surrounded in dark makeup shine brightly from under lashes that are coated in a much more pleasing, light coat of mascara. Her grin is wide and real, crinkling the sides of her eyes, and the laugh he hasn't heard in years is so familiar that it almost hurts.

He gets to his feet in an instant and walks quickly over to the table, his eyes wide and his face betraying his surprise at seeing the girl he's missed so desperately over the past four years.

He clears his throat when he arrives at the booth, suddenly feeling very unsure of himself as four pairs of eyes turn to look at him curiously.

He doesn't notice Martha's wide, flirtatious smile, or Rory's curiously raised eyebrows.

All he sees was _her_.

Her whiskey-golden eyes become as wide as his, and her jack slackens in surprise.

"What are you doing here?" John asks bluntly, still looking at her with shocked eyes. Martha looks worriedly between the two of them, and with an annoyed sigh, she gets up from the booth so that Rose can awkwardly scoot her way out.

"I live near here," she tells him simply as she stands in front of him, wringing her fingers together nervously. He runs his hand through his hair, and a smile forms on her lips at the familiar sight.

 _Oh_.

His stomach leaps into his throat.

 _That_ was the smile he's been wanting to see, missing desperately, for years. When it comes down to it, several people have lovely, kind smiles that lit up their faces.

But no one has a smile quite like Rose.

Her tongue curls lightly around her right canine, the slightest bit of pink just visible under the white tooth. Her lips spread slowly and gracefully, producing a powerful megawatt smile that doesn't just light up her face but lights up the entire room.

He moves with a sudden burst of energy, wrapping his arms around her tightly, as though if he let go she would disappear. After a moment of surprise, she returns the hug just as enthusiastically. His grin widens as her arms wrap around his neck, and Rose squeezes her eyes shut and smiles, tucking her face into his shoulder and breathing in the scent that she'd long forgotten but was instantly recognizable as _John_.

Neither let go for several moments, each revelling in the incredible happiness of having finally found each other after years of missing each other.

She steps away first, keeping her hands on his shoulders just as he keeps his hands on her waist, taking in her warm smile for the first time in _years_ and not wanting to miss a second of it.

"Hello," the simple greeting from her – they'd forgotten to actually greet each other before – has him wrapping her in another tight hug, and she laughs joyfully into his shoulder when he lifts her off the ground and spins her around.

She's still laughing when he sets her down, and her tongue was poking out from under her canine again and his smile is so wide that his cheeks are burning in pain, but he doesn't care. "Hello," he replies happily, not looking away from her for a second.

* * *

They fall into a familiar rhythm quickly – he would go her to flat or she would go to his, bearing gifts of dinner and smiles that never get old.

After years of not seeing each other, every word, every smile, and every laugh is precious.

Rose laughs boisterously when John gets ketchup on his nose and tries to reach it with his tongue, his eyes crossing as he attempts to spot the ketchup that he _knows_ is there because he can _feel_ it and it's bothering him to no end.

Tiring of his fruitless attempts, Rose finally reaches forward and swipes the ketchup off with her thumb and then licks it off, all the while meeting John's shocked wide eyes. Her lips curl into a Cheshire grin and her eyes are liquid honey and honestly, he can't _not_ kiss her.

Her eyes widen in surprise when he presses his lips to hers, but she is an equally active participant and before either of them know it _Jack_ is telling them that if they don't get a room he would join in.

* * *

She's twenty, he's twenty-two, and their friends act like children the next time they walk into the pub, fingers intertwined and hands swinging between them. Martha looks away quickly, and Rose feels sheepish, knowing Martha had a crush on her new boyfriend but refusing to feel guilty, because for the first time in forever, Rose is genuinely happy – the kind of happy that makes her wake up with a smile on her lips and her tummy flop when she even sees John – and she decides that while she would be apologetic to Martha, she wouldn't feel guilty about her happiness.

* * *

Their first time together is not magical.

They do _not_ fall together like practiced lovers.

Their first time is fumbling insecurities and jittery nerves. It's laughing when John accidently brushes a ticklish spot and accidentally bumping foreheads. It's a whisper of _is this alright_? and murmured reassurances.

Rose loves every second.

John feels decisively like he wouldn't change a thing about it.

* * *

It's exactly two months and four days after they officially began dating that John wanders into a jewelry shop to look at rings, because he'll be damned if he wasn't going to marry Rose Tyler.

* * *

Four months, two weeks, and three days after their first kiss, Rose jokes that she barely has a reason to go home anymore – all of her favourite clothes, her best makeup, her hair dryer and hair curler, her favourite shoes, and more than half of her assorted belongings have taken up permanent residence at John's.

He looks at her with wide innocent eyes and tells her she may as well move in.

She shrugs and says okay.

Their celebratory shag has Jack throwing things against the wall of their now shared bedroom, hollering at them that it was three in the bloody morning and he has to work in four hours.

Amy squeals so loudly when she finds out that Rose has to plug her ears for fear of going deaf.

* * *

He's nearly twenty-three and she had just turned twenty-one when John is offered a part-time teaching job at the University of London, available to him as soon as he receives his master's degree. The university will provide him funding for his PhD, should he wish to continue with his education.

They make sure Jack is spending the night at Ianto's and don't even bother trying to be quiet.

* * *

John is scandalized and acts personally offended when Rose informs him that she's never been in the London Eye.

He buys tickets the next day, and the smile on her face when she sees the tickets on the table make giddiness bubble in his stomach.

* * *

He notices a nervous expression cross her face when they step into their carriage, which ends up being empty except for them, probably due to the heavy rain.

He extends his arm to her. "Hold on to me," he tells her quietly, a fond smile lighting up his features.

She laughs at the memory and takes his hand, standing on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Her grip tightens when the wheel begins to move, but soon she's standing at the glass wall, looking outside in awe.

"It's so _high_." She whispers, and there is no fear in her voice.

* * *

She's twenty-one and the only remaining scars from her horrible relationship with Jimmy are mental, and they plague her in the form of violent nightmares.

John hates the nightmares, he hates that she's afraid, but when she confides to him that just seeing him next to her is enough to calm her down, he feels a guilty sort of pride in his core.

* * *

She's twenty-one and she's finally been convinced to attend uni part time – she'd going to get a degree in journalism.

She steps onto the campus and looks around nervously, thankful for John at her side.

He seems to sense her discomfort and offers his hand, a proud smile on his lips. "Hold on to me," he tells her, and she grins and takes his hand, squeezing it gently in thanks as he leads her across campus.

* * *

He's got a few more days left of being twenty-two when he hops of the bus and visits the Powell Estate without Rose.

He doesn't go to his mum's, although he's certain that if she finds out she'll be terribly insulted.

Instead, he knocks on Jackie's door and shifts his weight between his feet as he waits for her to answer the door. She does a few seconds later and is confused at the sight of him alone, but she invites him in regardless.

He knows he should ease into the question, and he's had a speech written for weeks that he'd practiced in front of the mirror more times than he'd like to admit, but in a second all of that is gone and he ungracefully blurts out that he'd like Jackie's permission to ask Rose to marry him.

After a lot of shouting (happy shouting, mostly on Jackie's part but not completely), Jackie gives John permission, so long as he promises to wait until her daughter is at least twenty-three before actually getting married.

* * *

He's twenty-three and she's twenty-one and the ring begins to burn a hole in his pocket. He's ready to marry her – he would have married her the day he'd bought the ring – but while they'd been dating for a full year now, he's hesitant to go too fast, knowing that her past experience has made her wary.

* * *

She's almost twenty-two when Mickey comes by the flat.

He and Martha hit it off.

Rose tries to hide her smile. She's not very good at it.

* * *

He's still twenty-three and she's been twenty-two for six days. They're sitting at the pub that's close to the flat, sharing drinks with Mickey, who has his arm casually slung over Martha's shoulders, as well as Amy, Rory, Jack, and Ianto.

Mickey passes a comment about Rose and John acting like an old married couple. Rose jokingly comments that they may as well be married, nudging John with her shoulder and grinning at him.

He shrugs and says okay, and she laughs.

He pulls the ring from his pocket and holds it out to her. "Marry me, Rose."

Her laughing stops immediately and she looks at him as though trying to figure out if he's serious. He smiles hopefully at her and she nods quickly.

He plucks the ring from the box and slides it onto her finger, and her hand is shaking so badly that he has to hold it steady with his free hand.

He kisses her soundly as their friends whoop and clap.

Her hands are still shaking, but that's okay, because his are too.

* * *

She's twenty-three and he's twenty-five, and there's two days until their wedding. She's jittery and excited, and he laughs when she topples over a glass of water, thankful that they didn't bother buying actual glassware and that the plastic cup is durable.

He outstretches his arms. "Hold on to me," he tells her, and she smiles and wraps her arms around his middle, resting her head on his chest as he wraps his arms around her shoulders and rests his cheek on the top of her hair.

* * *

She's twenty-three and he's twenty-five, and they're _married_.

She loves the wedding pictures. There's a picture of her while Jack is giving his best man speech, and she's laughing so hard, her eyes and squeezed shut and happy crinkles surround them, and John's got one around around her shoulders and is leaning inwards, his mouth open with laughter as well.

It's her favourite picture.

She places it on her nightstand.

* * *

He's twenty-eight and waiting for his interview with the dean of the University of Oxford regarding a full-time teaching position. His hands are shaking and he's shifting his weight between his feet. He wants to run his hand through his hair, but he'd spent nearly a half hour making it perfect this morning.

A hand gently touches his arm, and he looks up from his shoes to meet his wife's warm, hazel gaze. She gives him a reassuring smile and holds out her free hand.

"Hold on to me."

* * *

 **Please remember to let me know that you thought! I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it!**


End file.
